


I promise you, I literally pledge

by iron_spider



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dealing With Trauma, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Lot of Avengers are mentioned in passing but I didn't want to tag them all, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Waterboarding, also background Peter/MJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29245263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider/pseuds/iron_spider
Summary: He plops Tony down on the chair and Tony tries to elbow him—he’s got him tied at his wrists, his knees and his ankles, so he can’t make a run for it even if he wants to, and Scorpion knocks him down with a hand on his shoulder, so he’s sitting more properly.Tony’s facing the window now, and it looks like some torture bathroom, with a giant tub of water in the middle of the room.He’s about to say something else stupid when he realizes what’s happening.When it hits him like ice cold horror, Scorpion laughs.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 253





	I promise you, I literally pledge

**Author's Note:**

> heed the waterboarding tag!

That Scorpion prick drags Tony into the room by his bound wrists, and every part of him is screaming. Sure, he’s screaming, he’s literally screaming and cursing and putting up the biggest fight he can, but that fight isn’t much considering the gaping wound in his shoulder and the likely concussion rattling around in his head—all the reasons his body is screaming, too. He’s been close to death too many times in his life, enough to know the feel of it, the ache when it’s near—and this feels like that. 

“You’re making a big goddamn mistake, asshole,” Tony yells, as Scorpion tosses him against the wall. “Yeah, you got me this time, you crashed sushi pick-up, real big man—”

He tries to look around. He’s in a small room and this guy’s the only one with him—where are his five buddies?—and it smells like shit, dank and musty like no one has been in here for years. The ground is covered in debris and there’s a singular window separating this room from the next, which almost makes it look like an interrogation room. 

Scorpion stands over him and sneers. “You’re gonna shut up real soon, boss.”

Tony laughs, twisting his wrists and trying to get the fuck out of this. “After all this time, you don’t know me that well, I’m surprised.”

End of the world, check. Spending a whole year without Peter, check, as well as half of the universe, animals, plants, and every time Tony thinks about it he gets pissed about that big purple prick and his stupid, make-no-sense plan that sent them all careening into insanity. But they solved it, it was hell but they _solved it_ with the help of a couple alternate realities and shit that shouldn’t have been possible—but everything’s impossible til it isn’t, and he knew that for damn sure the second he was hugging Peter to his chest when he’d been arguing with May about a funeral for him six months before. He was gone, they were all gone, and then suddenly they weren’t, then suddenly a plan worked for once, and Tony’s heart finally knew peace.

Peace, for a moment. Because with Peter comes the whole dad thing, and yeah, he’d accepted it—he’d accepted it before the whole disappearing act—he’d accepted it back after the Vulture thing and when they’d started to have ice cream Tuesdays, that’s when he’d accepted it. But the _Peter being dead_ fiasco really made him accept it, made him embrace it, because half the universe was dead but Tony’s head was only saying _Peter. Peter._

Solving the _everybody’s gone_ problem gave Tony problems of his own. Nearly getting some form of alien radiation poisoning. Nearly losing his arm. Getting choked out so bad he couldn’t speak properly for an entire week. He fought and they all fought together and in the end he was like a shell, but when he woke up after all the explosions, it was still real. 

The kid was still back. 

He was right there, beside him in the med bay, watching Maury and commentating about this woman’s long lost daughter and how nice it must be to live in Colorado. The light was coming in through the window and clinging to his hair like a jeweled halo. May was sitting behind him, smiling, and Pepper was in there too, holding Tony’s hand like he was precious, like he was something worth gazing at and protecting. Rhodey and Happy came in after that and the Avengers came through on their own time and after a while they were all piled together, listening to Peter talk about Maury, and Tony didn’t say a word. He just watched and listened and thought this felt a lot like the dreams he had when everything was bad, when he was holed up in his lab running on two hours of sleep in six days and worrying about failure, worrying about permanence and funerals and not even having a body to say goodbye to. 

But this was real. It was over and there were new problems, sure—he couldn’t speak in anything above a rasp, he could barely feel his body—but everybody was around him and Peter was next to him eating mozzarella sticks and talking about Maury. Peter could hold his hand, because Peter was here. Peter was back.

Tony worried, for a while, that Peter wasn’t dealing with things. Was refusing to face what had happened—to him, with the whole ‘being dead’ thing, or whatever it was, and having front row, center seats for when Tony almost bit it. But Peter kept going, threw himself into the next thing like he always used to, and he just seemed happy to be able to do that.

And when Tony was on his feet again, ‘retirement’ meant no more Avengers save for inventing shit, save for _friendships_ , la-de-da, but it also meant that he focused more on Peter. Pepper encouraged it, because half the time he was getting in the way of SI’s latest venture to help everybody cope, despite having helped plan most of what they were doing, but having lost Peter made him that much more protective over the kid, and that much more determined to keep him out of danger, despite how he chased it down, despite how it reached for him.

And these assholes—the Sinister Six—showed up real fast. 

They were all losers on their own and focused entirely on Peter. Octavius ran from Steve on more than one occasion, Shocker blew up his own evil lair just to get away from Nat, and Beck, despite having a direct connection to Tony, sent one of his little illusions specifically to tell him to fuck off. Tony figured it was because Spider-Man was his legacy, the whole world knew that, and Beck was always such a loon in their time together that there’s probably some jealousy there. Scorpion and Electro did their own little team-up’s here and there, and Rhino was always destroying some shit seemingly for no reason, and Tony made it his business to help Peter with these assholes. Peter focused on the little guy, his neighborhood, which was in dire need of Spider-Man after going without him for so long. 

But these prick supervillains made Peter their focus. So he became their problem, and Tony became his backup. Together they put those assholes out of commission on more than one occasion (which only made Beck’s grudge deepen), but they always managed to limp away before they got to the final round of locking them up in the Raft. And they’ve only been “The Sinister Six” for the past three months or so, but it’s made them significantly more difficult to deal with, and just when Tony wants backup for his backup, Carol’s got half the team dealing with some space battle bullshit. 

And now it’s a Wednesday and Scorpion nabbed Tony when he was out picking up sushi for him and Pepper’s fucking lunch. Because of course. The only good thing about this is that he hasn’t seen or heard anything about Peter yet, and he’s sure they’d make a whole fucking production if they’d gotten him. They’ve gotten Tony twice before, not including this time, because he’s an old man that’s sometimes more of a hindrance than a help, but they’ve never gotten their hands on Peter for more than a moment or two during a fight.

But now they’ve got Tony. Again.

“Oh, I know you pretty well,” Scorpion says, and Tony’s never considered him very menacing—when he’s too close to Peter, sure, but it’s Beck and the Doctor that really scare him. Scorpion, Electro, Shocker and Rhino are enhanced, sure, but they run like hired thugs. Beck and Octavius shouldn’t be like they are—they’re smart, they’ve got degrees, they’ve got pasts, and yet somehow their insanity took over and they’ve been using their intelligence to hurt people. 

Never good. Never fucking good.

“Yeah, well, where’s my in-flight meal?” Tony asks, trying to inch back, still trying to work on his hands. 

Scorpion laughs, grabs an overturned chair from the corner and sets it on all four legs. Then he walks over to Tony, grabs him up, and Jesus, Tony needs to put on some more weight, he’s real tired of these pricks being able to toss him around like this—only Pepper should get that privilege—

He plops Tony down on the chair and Tony tries to elbow him—he’s got him tied at his wrists, his knees and his ankles, so he can’t make a run for it even if he fucking wants to, and Scorpion knocks him down with a hand on his shoulder, so he’s sitting more properly.

Tony’s facing the window now, and it looks like some torture bathroom, with a giant tub of water in the middle of the room. 

He’s about to say something else stupid when he realizes what’s happening. 

When it hits him like ice cold horror, Scorpion laughs.

“Try to keep your eyes open, huh?” he says, as blackness tries to overtake Tony, dancing in his eyes. “You should watch this.”

And with that, the door in the other room opens, and the other five are dragging Peter in. He’s putting up a fight, struggling and knocking them around, but they’ve got him in manacles that Tony immediately knows are vibranium, because he’s not getting out of them. His hands are strapped behind his back and he’s got a gag in his mouth, but Tony can hear him trying to yell around it. 

Tony tries to get up again, but Scorpion rewards him with a punch across the jaw for his trouble, and shoves him back down into the chair.

“You gonna hop to him, huh? That’s what you’re gonna do?”

Beck yanks the gag out of Peter’s mouth, and the first thing the kid yells after coughing is _TONY!_ It echoes in Tony’s heart and in his head and reverberates through all his memories, and he tries to get up again, to no avail.

They’ve got Peter’s goddamn mask off. They’ve got—they know. They know.

“Peter!” Tony yells, tears already prickling in his eyes. 

“Yup, we know who your little baby is now,” Scorpion says. Tony can’t breathe, watching Peter try to fight them off, and he knows what’s coming he knows he knows he can tell and he can’t—no no no, this can’t happen. Scorpion keeps on. “But it doesn’t really matter. Because we’re gonna kill him.”

“Kill me,” Tony says, and he wants to look up at him, for emphasis, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Peter. “Kill me instead. Not him.”

Peter’s feet scuff on the tile. He sees the tub, sees the water, and Tony watches the realization appear in his eyes. The way it hits him, the inevitability of it, because as far as he knows, Tony isn’t here. He isn’t saving him.

“No, no, no,” Peter pleads, and he’s able to shove Octavius back, but Rhino knocks him across the face before making him kneel in front of the tub. He’s struggling so much against the shackles that his wrists are bleeding. “No, please—you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this.” He grits his teeth and glances around, and Tony can see the panic in his eyes.

Tony’s gonna puke. He’s gonna puke. He has to goddamn get out of here, he has to. “Listen, it’s a much bigger deal to kill me,” he says, mouth dry. “So—”

Scorpion laughs, gripping Tony’s shoulder tight. Tony watches as Octavius says something to Beck, and then he sweeps out of the room, with Shocker on his heels. Chills rush up and down Tony’s spine and he has to fucking stop this.

“We are gonna kill you,” Scorpion says. “We’re just gonna make you watch him drown first, and then we’re gonna kill you. Thought it’d be more fun that way.”

“Peter!” Tony yells, breathing hard through his mouth. “Peter, I’m here! I’m here!”

“Oh, he can’t hear you,” Scorpion says. “That’s the whole fun of this. So shut up and listen. We’ll let you live in his final moments for a bit before we give you yours.”

“Goddamnit, you see he’s a fucking kid,” Tony says, his heart stuttering. “We’ll leave you alone. We’ll do anything.”

“Sure, sure, sure, I absolutely believe you,” Scorpion says. 

“Tony!” Peter yells, his eyes flashing. He tries to get up again, but Electro kicks him so his knees buckle, and he almost bashes his head into the side of the tub. Tony knows he wouldn’t be calling for him if he wasn’t afraid. And his voice wavers with panic, and Tony can’t fix it, he can’t fix it. 

“Peter!” he tries again, and he knows he shouldn’t be using his name because maybe they don’t _entirely_ know, maybe they’ve just seen his face and don’t know his name, but Tony is panicking as all hell right now. “Peter, Peter!”

“Not gonna work, Stark.”

Peter doesn’t look, he doesn’t hear. He really can’t hear him. Not even with his super hearing.

“Precious Tony is dead,” Beck says, wandering around back and forth behind Peter, where Electro and Rhino are holding him down. “Isn’t that sad? So sad. What a legacy he leaves behind.”

“No, no, no,” Tony croaks, watching Peter’s face change, watching it fall. “No, don’t do that.”

“I told you it’d be fun,” Scorpion says.

“No he’s not,” Peter says, defiantly, trying to mask his horror. “No, no. He’s not. He’s looking for me, he’s gonna find me. He’s gonna—”

Beck rushes up and gets in his face. “He’s not gonna find you, because he’s dead, because I killed him. I slit his throat myself, and it was a nice little goodbye package from Stark Industries.”

“Pretty disgusting to watch the old man waste away,” Electro says.

“Peter!” Tony yells, with everything in him, until his throat feels like it did when he couldn’t speak after the end of the goddamn world. “Peter, Peter, I’m here!” _He can’t hear you idiot he can’t hear you—_

“All you’re doing is showing out for me,” Scorpion says, as Rhino, the moron, laughs in the other room. 

Tony tries to launch himself up, and he does manage to knock hard into Scorpion before he topples to the ground like a fallen tree, and it doesn’t amount to much because he’s still fucking tied up. He loosens the ropes around his knees and ankles, but only a little, and not enough before Scorpion kicks him in the stomach and lifts him up again, depositing him back in the chair.

“Jesus, you’re a pain in the ass,” he says. “Just watch the kid die in peace or I’m gonna tape you to the fucking window and _make_ you watch.”

“No, no,” Peter yells, sneering through an expression that’s all messed up with tears. “No, he’s—he can’t be—”

“Done with this?” Electro asks, looking up at Beck.

“No, no,” Tony breathes, twisting around. He needs to be stronger, he needs to get out. “Stop this, goddamnit. Don’t hurt him. Please, please.”

“Yeah, go ahead, just like we said,” Beck says, with a flick of his hand.

Electro and Rhino pick Peter up, and shove his head inside the tub of water.

“No, no, goddamnit!” Tony screams, his vision blurring and his heart reaching peak levels of distress. They hold Peter there, under the water, and it splashes everywhere with his thrashing, and his fists open and close inside the shackles, his fingers shaking. Tony can tell he’s trying to get out of them, and if he could only use his hands he’d get rid of these fuckers in seconds flat, Tony _knows_ he could, but he can’t get out, his hands, they’re—they’re trembling, they’re—

“Please, what do you want?” Tony asks, and he has to look away, he has to, and he closes his eyes.

“Watch,” Scorpion says, hands on both of his shoulders now as he steps behind him.

“I’ll give you anything, asshole, anything, just tell them to fucking stop, let him up—”

“This is gonna play out exactly like we planned it,” Scorpion says. “So just enjoy the show.”

Tony struggles and Scorpion shoves at him, holding him in place.

Peter’s knees slide as he tries and tries and tries to fight back, and Tony feels like someone is burning him, like he’s the one under the water that can’t breathe—

They pull Peter up and he chokes and sputters, coughing, and it sounds like it hurts, his gasps desperate as he tries to get air in.

“Please—no,” Peter begs, still coughing, sagging in their hold. “Say he’s not—say he’s alive, please—”

Tony physically recoils, because the kid is being fucking _drowned_ , goddamn _waterboarded_ and he’s asking about Tony? Why? Why? He doesn’t matter right now, dead or not, because he’s useless and he can’t help so _why_ is that where Peter’s concern is—

Tears slide down Tony’s cheek and he shakes his head. “Peter,” he says, despairing.

“You’re a mess, Spidey,” Beck sing-songs.

“Tell them to fucking stop, now,” Tony says, swallowing hard.

“ _You_ stop with the commentary.”

“Should I give him a little jolt?” Electro asks, and Rhino grins in excitement, gripping Peter’s arm so tight that it’s already bruising.

Before Beck can answer, Peter headbutts Electro and knocks him back, and he wrenches himself away from Rhino, still coughing raggedly. Tony’s brightness is only shining for a moment, because as soon as Peter’s on his feet, Beck rams the heel of his hand into Peter’s nose, and grabs him by the throat.

“Fuck,” Tony breathes, and he tries to move again, shoving his knees hard against the ropes. Maybe he can fray them. He has to get out there and fucking fast, he has to, he has to catch Scorpion unaware, he doesn’t have enough time and Peter can’t get the upper hand—

Peter slips away from Beck too, but not for long, because Beck grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him back down into the water, more roughly than the other two did. Electro walks back over, shaking his head, and pushes down on Peter’s back. Rhino looks pissed.

Peter thrashes worse this time. There’s blood swirling in the water now, and the way Peter’s moving his arms, it looks like he might dislocate them trying to get them free. Tony lets out a groan that didn’t mean to meet the air, and a tremor runs through him.

“You two know he’s messy,” Beck says, looking at them both. “Why aren’t you on your game, huh? We knocked him around, sure, but he’s still _him_ , we have to be at our _best_ , or we won’t be able to kill him the way we want, he’s gonna get the fuck away.”

Electro just shakes his head, and they’re fucking hurting Peter they’re killing him and Tony is just sitting here, he’s just fucking sitting here, and he tries to work on his hands and feet but he’s never gonna be fast enough, never, not with how they’re doing this, and he’s gonna watch his kid die, again, _again_ , and this time he won’t be able to fix it, he won’t be able to—

Beck pulls him out and tosses him on the ground. 

Peter isn’t moving.

“Oh fuck,” Tony says, shaking, and he can’t—he can’t—he can’t see this—

Beck kicks Peter in the stomach and the kid folds, coughs up water, turning onto his side and coughing up more. Tony hates being relieved to see him in such pain, but he’s not gone yet, he’s not—and Tony keeps working on the ropes. Hoping Scorpion doesn’t notice.

Peter’s hair is plastered to his forehead and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, choking out little half gasps. His nose is bleeding, the blood trailing down his mouth and chin. Beck grabs him by his ankle and drags him closer to the tub again, and this time Electro grabs the showerhead that’s attached to the side of the tub, twisting the knob until it turns on.

Beck laughs and walks over to the window. Tony grimaces, anger surging through him, and Beck grins when he gets close enough, grabbing a towel off a rack on the wall. He raises his eyebrows so Tony can see.

“This is so much fun, isn’t it Peter?” Beck asks, walking back over to him.

“Tony,” Peter groans, coughing. 

Tony can’t breathe. He can’t—this can’t be happening.

_But it is but it is fix it fix it—_

“Get over here,” Beck says to the others, before he kneels next to Peter. Electro approaches and Peter keys in more, noticing them, and he starts struggling again. 

“No, no, please,” Peter says, trying to scoot away from them. But Beck flips Peter onto his back, and Rhino comes over and holds Peter’s legs down. Electro stretches the towel out over his face and holds it down tight, and Beck grabs the showerhead.

Peter thrashes and thrashes and thrashes, knowing what’s coming, crying out in fear.

“God fucking dammit,” Tony breathes, his voice breaking.

“God, this fucker is barely going,” Beck says, and Peter is struggling and trying to get away, and Electro lets go of the towel briefly to punch him in the stomach.

“No, no, no,” Tony says, fucking useless, useless, and Scorpion laughs again. Tony tries to look around, tries to see if there’s anything on the ground that can help him, and then he hears Beck turn the water on hard. 

Electro tightens the towel over Peter’s face, and Beck aims the showerhead at him, close, within inches, and sprays. 

“Stop, please,” Tony says, even though he knows it’s no use. “Make them fucking stop. Now, now, stop hurting him, stop, stop—”

Scorpion doesn’t answer.

Peter’s legs kick and Tony can hear him this time, hear his muffled fear and crying and all the gurgling, spluttering, and Beck keeps going and going and going, looking over his shoulder right at the window and grinning, and Tony has a full bodied reaction, white hot anger, and Scorpion holds him down. 

“Can’t do shit but watch.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Tony says, trying not to black out. “I’m gonna kill all of you.”

“Oh, so scary.”

Beck finally fucking casts the showerhead aside and Electro pulls the towel back, wringing it out against Peter’s mouth and nose. Peter can barely cough, his throat working up and down, his body shaking, and Beck flips him over, slamming him hard on the back. 

“Aw, there we go,” he says, continuing to hit him. Peter’s fingers flex and he does cough this time, trying not to sob. He’s still struggling to get out of the cuffs, and how did these bastards get vibranium, how the goddamn hell, the one thing that can hold Peter down, the one thing that he can’t get out of—

“Stop, I—please stop,” Peter chokes, trying to draw in big breaths that just won’t come.

Watching this is torture in itself. Tony is supposed to protect him. That’s what he said he’d do, and here he is, here he fucking is—

“Grand finale!” Beck yells, standing back up. “C’mon boys.”

“No, no,” Tony says, and his whole body is strung tight, his arms and legs numb, and he can’t do this, he can’t, he can’t. “Anything, all my fucking money, all of it, everything, I don’t care, just let him go, please, please—”

“No, please,” Peter groans, as Electro and Rhino grab him again. He fights but his movements are lacking, sloppy, and when he glances around, trying to find help, trying to find anything—he looks like such a kid. 

Tony wants to say _I love you_. He wants to but Pete can’t hear him, and he doesn’t deserve to love him, anyway. 

“No!” Peter yells out. “Tony, please! Tony, help me!” 

They dunk him back in. 

And this is agony.

Beck stands back, picks at his nails, and Tony finds himself screaming, he finds himself raging, he yells and he yells and Scorpion has to hold him down harder, and Peter’s legs slip against the wet floor and his fingers are shaking and he’s drowning, he’s drowning, his movements are getting weaker and weaker, shoulders moving less, the fight draining out of him, and Tony can’t stop screaming, his kid, that’s his kid, after everything and he’s dying, he’s dying—

Arms are barely moving, the water—it’s barely—Peter’s wrists are bleeding, fingers contorting—but he’s—he convulses once and then stops—convulses again and then—he’s settling, he’s—

“No, no, no, fuck!” Tony screams—

And two doors are slammed in at the same time. 

Tony sees the one in the room Peter’s in, but only for a second before he’s falling out of his chair with the blast of something. There’s a brief flare up of smoke and he hears Scorpion’s body hit the wall, slumping down a couple inches from him.

“Peter,” Tony says, without even knowing who the hell is here.

Natasha kneels down next to him, and she cuts him free from his bonds. “He’s—”

Tony stumbles to his feet, rushing past her, his knees crying out in pain, his arm too, but it doesn’t fucking matter, it doesn’t matter. Only Peter. Only Peter, that’s it.

“Tony!”

Tony’s out in the hallway, eyes blurry with horror and tears, but he sees the door to the next room, he hopes, and it opens before he can grab onto it. 

Clint. “Tony—”

They’re here. Why are they here? They’re supposed to be not here, but he’s glad they’re here and not in fucking space, but he can’t get on his knees and thank them yet because last he knew, Peter was barely moving, Peter was drowning, and that’s the priority. Tony pushes past him and sees Thor is here too, and Sam, both of them standing over the three fuckers who were hurting Peter. Even Rhino is down.

Peter is on the ground. Limp, soak and wet, and Steve is delivering chest compressions, looming over him and watching his slack face. He isn’t shackled anymore, but he isn’t moving. 

Tony hears someone try to say something to him but everything is falling away but the kid. He rushes over and starts pushing Steve out of the way. 

“We just got his hands free,” Steve says. “The guy outside had the key on a big chain, thank God it was—”

“Stop, you’re gonna—break his ribs, you’re too strong,” Tony says, dropping to his knees. He’s barely hearing him. “Stop. Let me—I got him, I got him.”

“Tony—”

“Where were you?” Tony asks, starting his own compressions. “How many—where should I start—”

“Delivered two breaths, on my twelfth compression—Tony—”

“Thirteen, fourteen—” Tony starts, trying to focus, trying to focus. 

“Weak pulse, but he has one—we have to—”

Tony can’t see anything else that’s happening around him, he knows Steve is beside him but that’s it, and he does the compressions and delivers the breaths but Peter is still just—laying there. He’s freezing, his clothes soaked through, and he isn’t moving. There’s blood dripping from his nose, and it’s definitely broken. 

He isn’t moving. He isn’t moving.

“Come on,” Tony whispers. “Come back, buddy. Come on.”

_Don’t die. You can’t die._

Tony’s arms hurt and he hasn’t done CPR in what feels like a hundred years, and he finishes the compressions and tips Peter’s head back for the third time, pinching his nose gently and delivering two more breaths. Nothing, nothing, so he starts again—

And Peter convulses, water coming out of his mouth like a broken fountain.

“There we go,” Tony says, and he turns him onto his side. Peter throws up more water, way too much, and Tony holds onto his arm and pats his back, gently but firmly, trying to help him. “There we go, bud. Get it out, breathe, breathe.”

Peter coughs, rough and irregular, and he sucks in labored breaths. Then it’s as if he remembers what was happening, like he’d forgotten and it came crashing back, and he starts to scramble away, away from them and away from the tub—

Tony moves after him more swiftly than he would have expected. “Calm down, calm down,” he says, hands out in front of him so he can appear as non-threatening as possible. “It’s me. It’s me.”

Peter coughs again, and every breath he takes is rough, like sharp edges. His eyes finally focus and his brows furrow. “T—Tony?”

Tony nods, quick as he can. “It’s me,” he says again, resting his hand on Peter’s wrist, where the wounds are from the cuffs. “Those shits were lying. But you knew that, you knew not to trust ‘em. You’re smart like that.”

Peter stares at him like he can’t believe it. He’s pale and his breath rattles, and the coughing keeps making him falter. He’s trembling and there are goosebumps cropping up all over his arms, and the flash of red under his nose is startling. Bright and shiny, like watercolor.

Tony’s heart twists with the hell of this.

“Buddy, c’mere,” Tony says, trying to urge him forward, just a little bit. “C’mere, you’re freezing, I’m having multiple panic attacks, lemme hold onto you.”

Peter blinks a couple times like he’s trying to level himself out, believe that it’s actually over, and after a few seconds he nods. He coughs, two difficult ones, and then presses his hands to the ground and coughs again, shifting forward. Tony meets him in the middle, gathering him up and holding him close.

He realizes that he’s never seen anything like that happen before, to Peter. He’s heard about some of the nastier shit he’s been through, but he’s never seen him tortured firsthand. The way his body moved under the pressure, the convulsing and struggling. It’s burned through the core of him. And it came so close, their intentions were—their intentions were clear, and Tony clutches at Peter, once again realizing how lucky they are. 

In a manner of speaking.

He feels Peter’s arms close around him, weak at first but then driven tighter with what could only be desperation. He’s _freezing_ , shaking and coughing, and every breath just sounds _bad_. He still sounds like he’s full of water, and Tony adjusts them a little bit so Peter is more straight up and down, leaning forward into him. He wants it to _come out._

Tony knows his priority is holding him right now, feeling him solid and alive, but his anger at the Sinister assholes is trying to shove its way forward. Three of them are close by, four if he counts that fucker Scorpion, and he could just take them apart. He could drown _them_ , right here and now, and nobody would miss them. 

He hopes they got them all, but he figures they wouldn’t be standing around if they didn’t. He focuses on Peter.

“Are you—you—okay?” Peter asks, voice all raspy.

Tony rolls his eyes, but they fill with tears. He rubs Peter’s back and his arm, trying to generate some heat. “I’m fine,” he says. “You’re the one, you’re—I’m worried about you.”

Peter coughs again, a couple more times, and sags into him. He trembles. “Was scared,” he says, gasping a bit. “For you. And it—that—that hurt. Scary. Bad.”

Tony’s been waterboarded before, but not for as long as they did it to Pete, it was more, it was—they were actually trying to drown him. This kid, this wonderful kid, full of kindness, with such a good heart, and they hurt him like that. It makes Tony waver with nauseous anger.

“I’ve got you now,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

“Tony,” Steve’s voice says, gently. “We should go.”

Tony doesn’t wanna let go of Peter, but when he acknowledges Steve’s voice, he starts hearing other things, too. Thor and Sam locking handcuffs together. Bruce in the hallway, talking about how to remove Rhino. 

“Rhodey here?” Tony asks, on instinct, since he always feels safer when Rhodey is around. 

“Yeah, he’s out there handling Beck,” Steve says, and a chill rushes up Peter’s body.

“You got ‘em all?” Tony asks, still not looking at Steve. He pulls back from Peter a bit, but Peter still sags forward, bracing his forehead on Tony’s shoulder. He’s trembling hard, every breath cut in half. Like a car having a hard time starting.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “We got the pings on your individual kidnappings the second we flew over New York, and we acted from there. Our systems are good, we’ll—we’ll always find each other.”

“Thank God for that,” Tony says. He brushes the wet strands of hair from Peter’s forehead, and Peter pulls back and looks at him. His eyes are bloodshot and he coughs again, his breath still rattling and messed up. His nose is a wreck, and they’ve gotta work on that, soon as they can. He shakes his head and has the nerve to look embarrassed, but Tony doesn’t say anything about it. “Can you walk, bud?”

“Yeah,” Peter croaks, nodding at him.

Tony looks up at Steve. “We got a quinjet?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he glances at Peter, all anxious. “You can take him straight to the back and lie him down. The medical team’s already been alerted at the compound, one that—the Spider-Man team.”

All the people Tony vetted who were sworn to secrecy about Peter’s identity, which did not include these six pricks previously, but now they at least know his name and what he looks like, so that has to be dealt with. There are a thousand things swirling around in Tony’s head, and exhaustion is looming behind his eyes, all his own injuries begging for attention.

But he nods at Steve. “Okay,” he says. “Pete, we’re gonna stand up, okay? I got you.”

Peter nods at him. Tony gets a good hold around his waist and Steve helps the two of them stand, and Peter leans hard on Tony, that horrible rattling in his chest coming with each shallow breath. He’s so pale and freezing, his nose still bleeding and his eyes glazing over a little bit, and Tony knows they have to take care of him now.

“Show me where to go,” he says, and Steve nods again, quickly moving out in front of them.

Tony walks slowly, because Peter is, and Thor looks distressed as they pass him by. He quickly grabs an oversized blanket from a bag behind him, and he drapes it over Peter’s shoulders.

“He is trembling,” Thor says, gesturing to him. “I thought—I thought that may help.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Tony says.

“Thank you,” Peter manages, coughing again but smiling despite it, because he’s always loved Thor.

Peter clutches at Tony’s shoulder with a weak grip, and he wheezes, weaving a little bit as they walk. Tony thinks about every goddamn thing they’ve been through, the life they’ve been trying to live, and he wonders if it’s too much to ask for a little bit of peace for people like them. 

~

Peter feels like he’s zoning in and out. His chest sounds like a leaky faucet and his nose is aching and the throb in his head booms and booms, a horrible pinching feeling at the back of his skull. The Avengers managed to get all six, even Octavius, though he put up a fight and nearly took out the Hulk. 

Peter feels like…

He feels like…

He’s so cold. He feels like he’s never gonna be warm again. He’s—he’s thrashing and sharp pain and agony, agony, like stabbing, someone stabbing him, lungs _burning_ like he’s got freezer burn, and his head wasn’t filled with anything good, only _PAIN PAIN TONY DEAD LUNGS FLOODING CAN’T BREATHE CAN’T BREATHE—_

“Bud,” Tony says. “Hey.”

Peter tunes back in and—he reaches up and covers his eyes with his hand. He’s laying down, he’s on—he’s on the quinjet, maybe, they said—that’s what they said—

He shivers, and another cough rumbles up through his chest, and he has to sit up and let it out. Tony grips his shoulder, and Peter realizes he’s covered in a couple blankets. 

“Let it out, bud, Jesus, those fucks—”

Peter feels weirdly small, and hurt, and there’s embarrassment brewing in his chest along with all the fucking water. He feels like he’s still drowning, still being held under, and he’s a kid again at the top of the tree in the park down the street from their apartment. With May down at the bottom, yelling. 

“You’re still so cold, Pete,” Tony says. He looks over his shoulder and starts to yell. “Bruce, is there a reason he’s—”

“Don’t tell May,” Peter manages to choke out. He lays back down, creaky and slow like an old man, and he glances at Tony. Tony is giving him this look, incredulous.

“Pete. Why? I have to tell her.”

Peter shakes his head. Why is he embarrassed? Is he panicking? Is this still panic? He’s dying. There’s something wrong in his head and everything is shook loose and he shouldn’t be embarrassed but he is, he is anyway, but he’s not gonna say that, and another round of coughing comes on and he shoots up again because he feels like he’s still _under the water—_

This one blinds him, and he feels Tony sit beside him and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Think we might need to give you some more oxygen,” he says, rubbing Peter’s arm.

Peter wants to ask _you gave me oxygen_ but he can only cough, can only listen to the way his breath comes out, like through a broken filter. 

“Here,” Tony says, and he’s handing him one of those oxygen masks, and Peter grabs it fast, pressing it over his mouth and nose. It’s like an influx, like there’s still blockages in his throat and his lungs but this air can push through it, and he takes deep breaths. Tony arranges another blanket around him, and Peter nods. 

Peter pulls the mask back, and he wants to say _thank you_. Instead, he says “I’m dying.” He doesn’t mean to say it and he shakes his head, but he coughs again before he can correct himself. Heat floods into his cheeks that doesn’t warm him. 

Tony tenses a bit beside him and holds him tighter. “You’re not dying,” he says, though his voice breaks. “You’re not. You just went through some absolute bullshit with some evil assholes, but we’ve got them now, finally.”

Peter feels small, and all he wants to do is sleep. “Nose is broken,” he says, sounding like a moron. 

“I know,” Tony says, still rubbing his arm up and down. “Helen’s gonna reset it.”

Peter sighs, takes a couple more gasps off the oxygen mask. He feels like his head is in a fog and he can barely focus, leaning into Tony. He feels an oncoming storm. “No concussion, right,” he says. “Just headache, so sleep.”

“You can sleep,” Tony says. “I’ve got you.”

Dunked in the water. Can’t breathe, can’t breathe—

He can’t shake it. He can’t shake any of it. 

~

Peter wakes up in the med bay with the remainder of his dreams. He doesn’t remember exactly what they were but he feels like he’s clawing his way out of them, and he can’t get rid of the feeling of his hands shackled behind his back. It’s like he aches worse than he did before, on the quinjet, and he can tell they reset his nose because it hurts in a different way than it did earlier. The oxygen mask is on his face, and he tries to breathe in a way that’s normal. 

What the hell is normal?

He’s shaking.

He feels like he’s hit a strange wall, a wall he didn’t know was there, one that might have been there all along that he was dancing around and trying to avoid. But now he can see it, now it’s huge and imposing and bearing down on him, now it’s floor to ceiling and it smells and it’s got barbed wire on it and it hurts to look at and it’s screaming, somehow, too. 

Under the water, under the water.

Fading away, fading to ash, is he ash, is that his hand disappearing—

Tony in a hospital bed and Peter was trying to be normal and talk normal but was he normal, could he be normal, what the hell is normal _what is normal—_

“Pete,” Tony’s voice says. “Relax. Relax.”

Peter realizes he’s sucking in air, panicking, and he opens his eyes and sees Tony standing over him. He peels the mask off and puts it aside, and he must miss the bedside table because Tony grabs it and puts it there himself. 

“Don’t tell May,” Peter breathes, coughing. “Please don’t—don’t tell her. Please.” Tony might have already done it, already told her, and that just makes Peter freak out more. He groans and more coughing comes on, like his throat is trying to close.

Tony gives him a look and sits on the bed, one hand on Peter’s shoulder and the other on his forehead. “Why?” he asks. “I haven’t yet, because she hasn’t heard about what happened to us and you’ve said this shit more than one time now, but you’re messed up and she has a right to be here—so why. Tell me why, Pete, why are you worried about telling her? She’s always here when—”

“Always,” Peter gasps, and it’s like his head is caving in. Thunder. Lighting. Hail. Sleet, lost in the snow. “Always, that’s just it, every time, every time and there are too many times, too many times and she doesn’t—she’s gone through enough—and you too but I’ve—guilted you into backing me on all my—crap decisions—”

“Okay, Peter, hey—”

“How many times do you guys have to see me in a hospital bed? In our own personal hospital? In a bed that’s mine because I’m here so often that I have a—a bed preference?” 

He coughs again, trying to breathe properly, and he’s drowning drowning there’s water in his lungs still he knows there is and he can’t get it all out he fucking can’t ever ever, and he feels trapped and sits up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He realizes he was under a heated, weighted blanket when it’s difficult to move it, and Tony quickly shifts so he’s standing in front of him, hands on his shoulders, in his way so he can’t get down.

“Tony—” Peter gasps, trying to breathe deeper, trying to _breathe_ , and he feels like he’s being buried, he feels he feels he _feels—_

“Okay, take a moment,” Tony says. “Stop. Stop trying to go somewhere. I’m not gonna say relax, because I know what this is like and relax doesn’t feel like an option even if it’s exactly what you need to do. But just stop. Stop, focus, listen to my voice. Try to level out. Come on, I’m here with you. You’re not alone, you’re okay. We’re okay, we’re on pause, buddy. It’s a break right now. We’re in between. I got you and we got this, okay? Just listen. I know breathing’s hard right now, but try and take some steady….deep breaths.”

“Okay,” Peter says, staring down at their feet. “Okay.”

Tony repeats himself for a minute, reassuring phrases in a quiet voice, and Peter just listens. His head is screaming, too loud, everything too loud, but he focuses and just—listens. 

“—okay? We’re fine.”

“We’re fine,” Peter repeats, his own voice hollow.

“Now Pete—tell me what’s going on in your head,” Tony says, still gripping his shoulders. “I know what happened was—”

“I almost died,” Peter breathes, shivering, and he coughs again. He closes his eyes and sways. “I almost. Again. Again. I died before, like— _died_ —and I’m always—it’s always so close but this, I—I was sure, I was—like, I knew, I was gonna be gone—and I’m just—so many times, _all the time—”_

He’s breathing hard again but his body isn’t ready for that, and the darkness that took him earlier tries to overcome him again. And that’s all this, that’s what made him sure it was over, the darkness, that’s what made him sure he was dead, he was really really dead, and there would be a funeral this time—

“A funeral, a funeral,” he gasps, his face burning, and he looks up into Tony’s eyes. “Funeral. Mine, my—”

Tony shakes his head. “Nope, no,” he says. He cups Peter’s cheek. “ _No._ It didn’t happen. You’re here, you’re alive, you’re with me.”

“It almost did,” Peter says, and the embarrassment flares up again, and why is he embarrassed of almost dying? He needs help. 

“But it didn’t, okay?” Tony says. He brushes Peter’s hair back, and Peter sucks in another wavering breath, and he can’t stop thinking, can’t stop thinking of darkness and how he knows what death feels like and dying and he’s been swallowing this for almost a year now he hasn’t been entertaining it he hasn’t been letting it in but that water caused a flood, it caused a flood, and the way he can’t breathe now feels like oncoming death, that’s what it feels like, and May doesn’t deserve this and Tony doesn’t deserve it and Ned and MJ don’t deserve it and Peter counts himself out most days but he knows he doesn’t deserve to die, either, he’s a teenager, he’s a kid, he’s—

He’s pitching forward and burying his face in Tony’s shoulder. “Okay, okay—” He’s trembling, burning up and freezing at the same time, and he can’t latch onto a thought, can’t, can’t get out of this hole, can’t stop drowning can’t breathe can’t breathe gonna die gonna die—

“Lemme tell you something,” Tony says, gripping the back of his neck, wrapping his other arm around him. “I’m not gonna let you die.”

“How you gonna stop—”

“You died before,” Tony says, as Peter squeezes his eyes shut. “And you’re here. Because I simply wasn’t having that shit.”

Peter coughs, shaking his head and trembling.

“I don’t know how this sounds to you, whether it sounds insane or not, but you’re gonna have to believe me and believe the past experience you’ve got—I promise you—I literally pledge—I will fold the fabric of time to keep you alive,” he says. “If this was some guy on the street saying all this I’d understand your doubts, but it’s me, I’m stubborn as hell, we’ve got access to some weird shit, and I’m not letting you die. That’s all there is to it, bud. I will find a way, every single time, because if we know about aliens and shit, other worldly whatever the hell, it’s not asking a lot for you to live to a ripe old age, grey hair and all.”

Peter snorts. It feels like the moment has broken, slightly, but Peter still stays slumped against him, trying to find some measure of normal breathing.

“And we got them, Peter,” Tony says, with meaning. “We got them, they’re not gonna get away this time, they’re not gonna touch you again.”

Peter shakes his head. He keeps his eyes closed even though the darkness is heavy. “I should have gotten them,” he says. “Me, not—Avengers swooping in and saving me.”

Tony makes a noise that sounds like half a scoff, half a laugh, and then Peter feels him take his face in his hands, gently lifting his head up. Peter just sags into his hands, feeling useless and stupid and eager to get any kind of comfort Tony’s willing to offer right now. But he does open his eyes, a little bit.

“Pepper finished off Obie for me,” Tony says. “When I couldn’t. She also finished off goddamn Killian—when he was about to set me on fire or something, I don’t even know. But those were my guys and Pep did it for me, and plenty of times _you_ have taken out some asshole that was trying to get me, or Steve, or—listen, none of us will forget when you saved Sam from that weird magnet guy who’d been on him for months. Sam will never forget it.” Tony raises his eyebrows at him, and shakes him just a little bit. Peter’s face crumples a bit more than it already was, and his chest rattles as he heaves in a few breaths. 

“But they were _my—”_

Tony lets go of his face, and holds his shoulders again. “Hey, they were mine too, because they were messing with you. In families, we share.”

A burst of warmth cuts through the goosebumps and cold, and Peter doesn’t know if he can think rationally right now, but the inkling is there, underneath everything else. 

Tony ruffles his hair gently, and urges him to lay back down with a hand on his shoulder. “Come on—we can get through this, we can and we will. You don’t have to do anything alone, bud, ever, okay? But right now, rest is key—I know you’re strong as shit, enhanced—”

Peter lays down with Tony’s urging, but he finds a brief moment out of the fog, enough to see the cuts and bruises on Tony’s face, the bandages, the way he’s favoring his right arm. Peter’s eyes narrow as Tony helps his legs back onto the bed. “Are you alright?” Peter asks, tinges of guilt rolling over him. “Are you—Tony—”

“Yes,” Tony asserts. He smiles at Peter softly, holds down the button so the bed is more propped up, and he adjusts the pillows behind Peter’s head and back. “I’m gonna. Call May, and—say we had an accident, or something. I don’t know—never good to lie to her, Pete, because it’s gonna come out anyway, but she needs to be here—”

Peter coughs again, and he covers his face with his hand. He’s not in the middle of the panic attack anymore, but he’s still in the resulting tremors of it, the issues are still—issues. 

And she’s gonna find out anyway. 

“Just...tell her,” he says, without looking at Tony. 

May’s been through so much. Lost so much. And he does this to her constantly and even now, even after this, even when it feels like the worst idea ever and the most massive horrible thing he’s ever chosen to do—he can’t stop. He can’t give up Spider-Man.

May, Tony, Ned, MJ, the Avengers, the people that rely on him, all the kids that love Spider-Man—he can’t die on them. He can’t. 

But he can’t abandon them either. No matter what kind of danger’s threatening him.

“I’ll—listen, I’m good at this,” Tony says, gripping his shoulder. “I’ve gotten into all kinds of shit, you know me, and I’ve got Pepper who demands detailed explanations—I’ve got this. I can tell the truth while—padding the truth.”

Peter sighs and nods, dreading it all the same. He wonders if this feeling will wear off, or if this overflow has taken him somewhere different. 

“Okay,” he mutters.

~

Peter’s gonna have breathing issues for a little bit, which will bench him for the amount of time Helen deems necessary. Tony is able to make things sound not nearly as death-defying as they were when he’s on the phone with May, but she still nearly breaks down in his arms when she gets there and sees Peter sleeping in the bed. She doesn’t say anything that was on Peter’s mind, nothing about resentment for how often they find themselves here, only questions how he can get past this, what exactly Helen has in mind to get him back into shape, if his enhancements and powers will help any. It feels like some things are going unsaid, but Tony is afraid to be the one to say them. He’s afraid of a lot of things in his life, but he’s especially afraid of failing in his duty to protect Peter. He never thought he’d have someone in his charge, especially not someone so important, and despite Peter’s independence, his strength and resilience, Tony knows if anything happened to him it would be on Tony. His fault, and his job to solve it, whether it’s solvable or not. 

And seeing him like this—listless and worrying, clearly finally facing everything he hasn’t been dealing with—is hard as hell, for Tony and for May, and for Peter’s friends.

But Tony and May don’t properly get into it until about a week after the incident. Peter isn’t in the med bay anymore, he’s in his room at the compound with some medical equipment and oxygen at the ready, and Tony is always listening to his breathing, trying to measure how it sounds in relation to the day before. He’s healing, quicker than somebody else would who’d endured what he did, but it isn’t instant, snap-your-fingers shit. 

At the current moment, he’s in his bedroom with MJ and Ned playing video games, and their laughter carries out into the hallway. Tony and May are returning with lunch, with the cheesesteak subs they ordered earlier, and May clears her throat in a very particular way.

“I know you love him,” she says, glancing up at Tony and stopping in her tracks.

He stops too, narrowing his eyes at her. “Uh. Is this because I got him extra onions? Because I know he—”

“I’m just saying, I know how you feel,” she says, simply. “How this whole thing felt. Dealing with it from your angle, you being hurt too, having to see him get hurt and not be able to do anything about it.”

Tony’s the one clearing his throat now, and he looks down at his feet.

“He’s—he’s finally getting past it, now, but I know—I’m just saying, we both know what happened, that he finally had to face everything he was burying, and we knew he was burying it, we knew he wasn’t coping with what happened, and then he kept going harder and harder and then something like this— _this_ happened and it was horrifying, and now we— _we_ are almost refusing to talk about it and how much it—it scares us too…”

“Yeah,” Tony says, feeling dizzy and guilty and, as always, not good enough.

“But I’m saying,” she says. “I know you love him. I love him too, beyond all...beyond anything. And he’s—we can’t stop him, because he’s a hero, and he’s got this gift and that’s it, and there’s no stopping him. I lost my mind at him every day when I found out, but it was like yelling at a brick wall, and as long as—as long as he wants to do this, there’s just—nothing we can do about it but—love him, and support him, and—”

“This is on me,” Tony says, glancing back up at her.

“No,” she says, her brows furrowing. “That’s not what I’m trying to say, Tony—”

“May—”

“No, don’t,” she says, stepping closer to him, still clutching the take-out bags in her hands. “I’m just saying. Don’t feel guilty, but we have to face it too. We just have to be—completely available to these moments and what they do to our heads and we can’t just swallow it down because we love him so much—we have to—feel our emotions and be inside them and just completely accept them and move on because if we don’t we’re—we’re useless to him, and we can’t let him do it again either, okay? We should have tried harder to get him to face what had happened to him to begin with so he didn’t have this big—end of the world panic attack and breakdown, despite how—despite how bad this whole thing was.” She sighs and shifts uncomfortably. “Do you get me, Stark, huh?”

He blows out a breath. “Yes. I think. I’m more in touch with my emotions now after all the—ashes, floating away, bye goes my sanity shit, so—yeah, I think we can do that.”

And he tells himself he can protect him, too. At least he can do his best at that, quietly, and acknowledge that it’s his best.

And keep his promise. Never, ever let the kid die. He can manage that. He can totally manage that.

~

They deliver the dinner, eat it as a group, and Happy shuttles the kids home after it hits nine o’clock. Helen checks up on Peter and is happy with his progress, and as the night wears on, May falls asleep on the late night news.

“You’re the only kid I know that likes to watch the news,” Tony huffs, from the second lounge chair in the room, by Peter’s bed.

“How many kids do you know?” Peter asks, a little smile on his face. 

“Hush.”

“You guys don’t have to hang out in here with me,” Peter says, and he shimmies down lower under his comforter. “Pepper still isn’t back?”

“Nah, they extended the conference til Thursday,” Tony says. He tugs the blanket up his chest a little further, and he glances over, making sure Peter’s got enough blankets and shit. He got a little cold right after everything, mild pneumonia, and he’s still getting over that, too. 

“That sucks, what the hell?”

“I know.”

“Don’t they know you almost died last week?” Peter asks. 

Tony scoffs, and stares at him. Peter’s giving him a strangely serious look, and then he huffs too and looks back at the TV. He’s been watching the news religiously nearly every night since he’s been on this break, if they can call it that, and Tony’s always worried he’s gonna see something that’ll set him off. 

“You know, Pete,” Tony says, his brain working, probably overworking and overthinking and doing the wrong damn thing, as always, “I feel like you’ve accomplished more in your few years as Spidey than any of us have in our—superhero careers.”

Peter’s the one to scoff now, and he looks at him from under narrowed eyes. “Sure,” he says. 

“I’m serious,” Tony says. “Yeah, Steve’s done big missions in World War II, I know that’s what you’re thinking about, whatever, big deal—but you’ve helped people on a universe scale, world saving shit on more than one occasion, and you’re also helping them on the ground every day. You’re making every day lives worth living.”

Peter only hums a little bit, looking back at the TV.

“So, if you wanted to...retire,” Tony says, which makes Peter’s head snap back to him quickly, “no one would think less of you.”

It’s weak and it’s lame and he knows immediately that it doesn’t work at all, in any capacity. 

“I can’t retire,” Peter laughs. “Retire. As a teenager.”

“Listen—” Tony starts, sitting up again, but Peter shakes his head.

“You know I don’t get paid for this so it’s not about you supporting me financially,” Peter says, reading his mind. He clicks his tongue. “I just. I don’t want to stop. Yeah, I get—this scared me. This really scared me, a lot, and it scared me more because it merged with all the—other stuff and made this big scary—monster thing—” 

“They’re in the Raft now, Pete,” Tony says, cutting him off, needing to reassure him again even though they’ve been through it and through it. “They are. Secure, finally. Which is something we all did together.”

“I know,” Peter says, swallowing hard. “I know, I know. But even so, like, there’s gonna be more. More people like them. And I know that and you know that. But I—in the end, I just—like you said, I’m helping people. And I need to keep helping them, that’s—I love doing that, I’m meant to do that, I—I’m supposed to.” He meets Tony’s eyes and nods at him. “I need to protect people from jerks like—those six. I’m the barrier between both groups. I just need to be more careful. Like. A lot. We both do.”

“Thought I’d try,” Tony says, shrugging.

“I get it,” Peter says, smiling. “I want you to retire all the time and you’re of retirement age.”

“Don’t make me _hurl_ something at you,” Tony says.

Peter laughs this time, grinning. “Nah, I mean—I don’t. I don’t really. I want you safe, obviously, I mean, I want us both safe. I want everybody safe. But having you as backup is—it’s still the best thing ever. I feel selfish saying it sometimes but I—I love having you in my corner. I love our—team-up’s.”

“It’s not selfish,” Tony says, feeling more awake with every passing second. “At all. I’m here for you, kid, as long as you need me to be—”

“And I—need you to be,” Peter says, quickly. He swallows hard and crosses his arms over his chest, making himself a little smaller, and he cracks his jaw. Tony still listens hard for the rattle in his chest, and he barely hears it now. “I need you to be,” Peter says again. “Like. Right there with me, for the—next. However how long. I don’t know how long and I know I wanna be my own spider and all that, we’ve had actual conversations about it I know, I know—”

“I’m there,” Tony says, softer than intended, so he hopes it still lands. “Like I said. Every time. You want me on backup for a math test? I will be there in the corner of the room feeding you the answers.”

Peter snorts.

“You want me on backup for a date with your girlfriend? Miss MJ?”

“Oh my god.”

“I _will_ be there dressed as a waiter with an over the top wig and beard combo,” Tony said, raising his eyebrows. 

Peter grins and Tony grins too, basking in the glow of it. 

“But yes, if you wanna keep going—which you will, I get it—same deal, no matter what, always bud. No matter what happens, doesn’t happen—I’m at your disposal. And eventually, I’ll cramp your style, I’m sure—”

“You only add to my style,” Peter says, still smiling.

“Uh, nah, everybody loves Spidey. Iron Man’s old hat.”

Peter gives him a look.

Tony holds his chin high. “Not fishing for compliments.”

“For real,” Peter says, with so much kindness. “You’d never cramp my style. What—style I have. I just wanna, you know—work through this and get past it and be able to be on my own again, like a bird leaving its nest—”

“A small, tiny robin—”

“Tony.”

Tony smiles at him. “The one with the fluffiest feathers—”

Peter sighs, and Tony laughs outright.

“Webs, always, okay? It’s not even a question. I’ll be there with bells on for as long as you need me and when you don’t need me I’ll be hanging on the sidelines _in case_ you need me. Between upgrades and too much reality TV and the ever-present urge to repaint the living room.”

“You should do that and I’m gonna help you and so is Thor, he said so,” Peter says. He shifts onto his side and glances over his shoulder when the news report changes to the next story.

Tony stares at him for a second. Their lives are complicated as hell, and he’d probably do anything and everything in order to keep Peter out of danger, but the kid is a hero at his very core, so Tony knows he just has to support him. Protect him as much as he can, and live in his emotions like May said to do. Maybe they’ll guide him in the right direction, and Peter too, if they don’t put up walls.

No one’s ever gonna catch either one of them unaware from now on. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.

“Oh shit,” Tony says, sitting up a bit further again. He points at the TV. “Now this is the kinda thing we have to stay on top of. Number one priority. This guy let about twenty seven deer and buck loose in the Brooklyn museum today.”

“What?” Peter exclaims. “What the hell. Why? I didn’t even hear about that.”

“People just wanna watch the world burn, Pete,” Tony says, watching as the lights from the TV twist and blink over Peter’s form, May’s snoring a fitting soundtrack for it all.

“No more stealing wildlife on our watch,” Peter says, and he already sounds tired, struggling to focus on the TV. “Or like. That guy with all the cotton candy in the fountain the other day.”

“That’s worse than anything Shocker ever did on his own,” Tony says, wondering if it’s too soon for jokes. But Peter snorts, a small smile on his face as his eyes slip closed. “Night, Spidey,” Tony says, remembering all the days from before, before that day Spider-Man popped up on his radar. How the hell did he ever live without him? What other-worldly force decided _he_ was good enough to be a father to this kid?

Feels like Mom. Yeah, it feels like something she’d do.

“You don’t gotta stay in here, Tony,” Peter says, hands pillowed under his cheek.

“Lonely up in the big room without Pep,” Tony says, adjusting his own blanket again and grabbing for the remote. He turns the news down to a low background hum. “And plus, two of my favorite people are right here.”

Peter smiles in his sleep, and Tony shifts onto his side too, his own eyes getting heavy.

He’s gonna keep all his promises.


End file.
